Let Go
by Lexie Jayne
Summary: He waits for the day he can breathe easy that she won’t hate him for not telling her he doesn’t hate her, he isn’t using her and yes, he does care.


**Title:** Let Go

**Author:** Alexandra Bruderlin

**Rating:** M

**Summary:** _He waits for the day he can breathe easy that she won't hate him for not telling her he doesn't hate her, he isn't using her and yes, he does care._

**Pairing: **Jondy/Zack

**Prompt: **Broken

**Disclaimer: **James Cameron owns the characters. I'm meant to be studying for my HSC.

**Author's Notes: **Another fanfic100 prompt. This is an idea I've played with a lot, but this fic started out as Lost and ended up DA, somehow. I hope you enjoy it :) Reviews are beloved.

_I joined fanfic100 at livejournal, and picked the X5s. Which means I have to write 100 Dark Angel fanfics about the X5s (ninety of them have prompts I have to use). If you'd live to see the master list of these 100 fics, check out my livejournal - the url is in my profile.  
_

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Terminal City was like a ghost town after five years of battle – a battle with one side too righteous, and one side that knew how to play dirty. Or maybe both sides were like that. Most of the buildings are burnt out or blown to pieces from one of the two air raids the Vice-President ordered. Onlookers rarely saw any of the transgenics emerge from the shadows.

After the original air raids, the transgenics had begun to move underground, expanding the basements of the buildings. It was a harder life than any of them had been prepared for – there was no privacy; everyone lived in the basements together. There was little running water, usually dirty and always cold.

She sat cross legged on a blanket, her red hair knotted at the base of her neck, a beat up old laptop balance on her knees. She taps away at the keyboard, gazing at the screen with practiced concentration. She dyed her hair red because she's been labelled by the government one of the most dangerous hackers in the United States, which makes her laugh quietly. The government that condemns her is the same government that created her.

"Mama." A blonde toddler appears at her side, his tiny arms wrapping around her neck and buries his head into the corner of her neck.

"Hey baby," she replies without looking at the child that bares her eyes, her disappointed frown - his smile, his blonde hair. The man in question is back with them now, but he'll never be the same person he left as now. He's still strong, but he can let go easier now. No matter what he said before, he was more emotionally invested before. At least, that's what she tells herself. It's easier to justify everything that's happened if she believes that it's him that screwed up rather than her.

The boy wants her full attention now and she sighs audibly, closing the laptop and pulling him into her lap. He grins up at her and she smiles, albeit sadly. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

The large rooms have slits close to the roof to let sunlight filter in. Many people have rigged up curtains around the room to claim their area and to pretend there's privacy. If someone wakes up in the middle of the night, there's no guessing what the heavy breathing and rustle of clothing means.

Zack sleeps with her and their son, curled up on an old mattress someone dragged down from the wreckage of Terminal City and offered it to them back when she was five months pregnant and lost for a purpose. The child sleeps between them, but they don't touch. The only time she let him touch her was went they were out of sight, scavenging for supplies on the surface. Ten minutes in an apartment with a hole where the floor should be, and once again she's smitten with him, and he's just happy to be getting laid.

He treats her distantly when they do talk, and seems to be closer to the boy than she is, which makes her sad inside. He never loved her. He only stayed civil with her because he couldn't turn his back on her, pregnant and unhappy. She was never meant to be a mother.

She smothers the boy in kisses before his father walks over and hoists him into his arms.

"You and Alec are scheduled to do a supplies run tomorrow," he tells her. She nods and picks the laptop back up.

It's early in the morning when he listens to her leave, pulling on the black clothes and knotting back her hair. She's got a gun tucked in her jeans, and she touches her baby's cheek before she walks out without looking back, without any final words.

Some nights, he watches her sleep and wants to explain to her, she's the closet he's ever go to caring. He wants to explain there's no point in him getting close to her again, after all these years, because she's going to die. She was too blatant in the early days to live through the siege. Red hair, blonde hair, black hair – she's going to die.

He waits for the day she doesn't return with bandages and drinking water, with a small smile for them both, and an awkward hug for the three year old child she regards more like a pet than her family.

He waits for the day Alec comes back, blood stained and pale, maybe lugging her broken body in his arms, a bullet wound to the back of her head haunting him for the rest of his life, and causing the screaming from his son.

He waits for the day he can breathe easy that she won't hate him for not telling her he doesn't hate her, he isn't using her and yes, he does care.

And he curses himself for that. He curses himself for letting loneliness and lust get the better of him; for letting a coy smile and a gentle kiss remove every one of the principles he worked so hard to maintain. And he hates that when she is gone, he'll let the emotions show, raw and red.

He lets her leave and strokes his son's hair and wonders if he lets her go because it's just easier this way.

At least, that's what he tells himself.

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End file.
